In the confusion you point somewhere, into the darkness, perhaps where your heart is, and device rather than weep about me, twisting lies and dreams into a heap of rot, and they cook it in a pot, the pains impossible to bear, so to wash away the darkness of they would repair, in chains against a cliff in pain, with nothing to their name, a soul and mind almost gone, the play continues, they sing along.

No comments:

Post a Comment